The FullMelancholy House of Death Club: a songfic
by Maximilian Winter
Summary: One island. More fandoms than you can shake an automail-plated leek at. Soar the island skies with the Darkest of sorts. Enter the village of Neo-Hinamizawagakure. We will let you down. We will make you hurt. Various pairings.


_Disclaimer_: We do not own these characters, nay, we do not.

_Author's Note_: We apologize in advance.

The coolness of the window on Daisuke Niwa's forehead seemed a comfort and a warning.

_Is it the outside that's so cold?,_ he wondered silently, letting his eyes sweep over the cloud cover. Beyond his headphones the pilot mentioned something about turbulence. _Or is it just the glass?_

BLAME ASS FOOL DON'T KNOW BOUT AIRPLANE MECHANICS, Dark intoned. His host frowned a little.

_Bored, Dark?_

SHUT YO SORRY ASS, Dark replied. YOU KNOW YOUR MOTHER LOVES ME BETTER.

A small tear rolled down the small boy's cheek.

HEAD'S UP, SUCKA: his alter ago interrupted abruptly. SOME SWEET ACTION ACROSS THE AISLE. Daisuke sighed, turning his head discreetly.

She was beautiful, certainly. Her bright blue eyes lit up beneath shining blonde hair as her seatmate whispered something into her ear. Daisuke felt a blush in his cheeks.

AWWWWW YEAH, GET SOME, Dark commented conspiratorially.

* * * * *

Light was not in his best form. A weekend trip in Mexico, and all he had to show for it was the tail end of Montezuma's revenge, a flimsy straw sombrero, and what he suspected was syphilis. However, Misa seemed at ease. And that was the point, after all. With no memory of the Death Note in her spacey mind, the road remained clear. A new world would be born, and he, Light Yagami, the unquestionable God and overlor—

"USA-CHAN!!!"

Light twitched involuntarily. That voice. If it hadn't already driven someone to violence, now was as good a time as ever. With unthinking grace, he covertly fished the hotel's complimentary pen from his trouser's pocket, one finger poised to open the slot beneath his watch. His eyes swiveled toward the front of the plane, where the ruckus grew only louder. Immediately his irritation was met with disappointment. A blue curtain between coach and first class.

"Damn rich people," Misa pouted. Light couldn't help but admire her intuition.

* * * * *

Dillon felt something fuzzy imbed itself deep inside his cornea. The following pandemonium, and whomever it involved, was only a blur through his streaming eyes.

"USA-CHAN!!!" a squeaky voice cried out. Something removed the plushy projectile from his lap. "Hikaru, what was that for?!?" it whimpered sulkily.

"Kaoru, Hikaru, you know not to take Honey-sempai's things!"

A careful duet of chuckles echoed from the left side of Dillon's seat. "Sorry, m'lord," one voice said.

"The in-flight movie just wasn't cutting it."

Dillon blinked rapidly, trying to clear his eyes. A hand fell upon his.

"Hey… you're new, right?"

He turned to see a brunette beside him; closer than he'd anticipated. He laughed, a bit nervously. "Hey, shouldn't you be sitting with the other girls?"

"Oh, uh…"

He blinked again. The brunette's uniform matched his own.

"Oh!"

"It's alright," he laughed generously. "I get that sometimes."

Dillon shook his head frantically. "No! I mean, you're very masculine."

The boy's large eyes seemed to blink somewhat slowly. Dillon grinned sheepishly.

"I'm Haruhi Fujioka. You're Dillon Lang, right?" Haruhi laughed to himself. "I'm sorry about my friends here. They can be a little rough on newcomers."

The passenger beside her turned his head, glasses glinting in the sun.

"Lang, is it? The architect's great-nephew?"

The boy seemed to analyze him with a deviance that Dillon could not put his finger on, yet its menacing was overwhelming.

"You know, you would make a fine host. The OC type."

"We break the fourth wall," Haruhi whispered.

Suddenly their conversation was no longer private; and Dillon was swarmed by a host of others who were apparently acquainted with Fujioka.

"Dii-chan!" the squeaky voice from before squealed delightedly. A tall student with dark, cropped hair made a menacing presence behind him that left Dillon irrationally afraid.

"Sorry about the toy, newbie," one redheaded guy said. The other-identical in every way, Dillon noticed- simply looked put out, glaring at a blonde across the aisle. Suddenly, Dillon realized he knew him: Suoh, the chairman's son. The boy seemed to glide over, extending his hand toward Dillon's seat.

"Hello, newcomer! We are the Ouran Host Club!"

* * * * *


End file.
